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So instead of doing the right thing and putting an end to this unhealthy arrangement, I pad lightly up the stairs and slip into Rory’s room.
This won’t solve anything. It never does.
But for a few minutes, I can forget.
And right now, I want nothing more than to forget that Esme can never be mine.
ChapterThirteen
Esme
I stareat the textured ceiling of my bedroom, Tristan’s even breathing mixing with the white noise app on my phone. I thought the sound of rain would help me fall asleep, but nothing seems to help quiet my mind. Not after tonight.
Seeing Creed again.
Feeling Creed again.
Almost kissing Creed again.
I have no idea what came over me. It was like no time had passed. Like we were back in that bubble where we could shut out everything else and just be us. When I felt his body against mine, I’d forgotten things weren’t the same as they once were.
Forgotten that Tristan was mere feet away, waiting for me.
I’ve never felt as guilty as I did when I walked back into the royal box and sat down beside Tristan, the soft kiss he left on my cheek making the guilt fester even more.
Creed and I didn’t do anything.
But I wanted to.
Which is why I immediately resolved to keep my distance from him as much as possible going forward. No more thinking about Creed. Fantasizing about Creed. Hungering for Creed. Instead, the only man who I’ll allow into my thoughts is the one sleeping beside me.
But it’s easier said than done, especially as I lie in the bed Creed and I shared for mere hours one night all those years ago. Is he thinking about me? Did he use Rory to try to erase me from his mind and body like I used Tristan earlier?
I shouldn’t care. Should be happy he has someone, regardless of how fucked up the situation may be. I should be happyIhave someone.
But every time I think of anyone else being able to kiss Creed, touch Creed,loveCreed, hot jealousy bubbles inside me, the walls of this place closing in and suffocating me.
Needing to do something to distract me from these thoughts, I throw the duvet off me and slide out of bed, padding on light feet from my suite and into the kitchen. I ignite the gas on the stove, then place the kettle on it, staring into space as I wait for it to whistle. Once it does, I scoop some of my favorite tea leaves into the infuser and pour the boiling water over it, allowing it to steep.
Teacup in hand, I head toward the den, one of the few informal and relaxing areas of my entire apartment.
One of the few areas of my apartment Creed and I were never intimate.
But as I turn, I glance down the hallway toward the administrative wing where I once spent all my working hours when not at a public engagement.
Where Creed and I routinely met under the guise of planning Rory’s baby shower as a cover for our summer-long tryst.
It’s the last place I should want to be right now. If my bedroom contains strong memories of Creed Lawson, my office will be even worse. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn his scent still clings in the air.
Regardless, my legs have a mind of their own, carrying me down the corridor and toward the double doors of my office.
Placing my hand on the knob, the metal cool under my touch, I pause, summoning the strength to face the ghosts of my past. I need to do this. Need to confront my memories head on, regardless of how painful.
Tristan has to get on a plane tomorrow and leave for Los Angeles. I’ll no longer be able to use him to chase away the memories. I need to be able to do it myself.
Straightening my spine, I turn the knob and open the door, stepping into the familiar space.
Like the rest of my apartment, it’s as if I never left. Bookshelves still line the far wall, filled with some of my favorite novels. A few magazines and newspapers are placed on the coffee table in the sitting area, seeming to have been replaced every day despite my absence. My official communications box sits on my desk, the royal family crest embossed in gold foil on the outside of the emerald green leather.
